


Lost Home

by silvertrails



Series: First Age Arc [39]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 00:44:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17539451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvertrails/pseuds/silvertrails
Summary: After Nargothrond is destroyed, Gildor ends up in Balar.





	Lost Home

**Lost Home  
By CC   
March, 2008**

This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit is made and no harm is intended. 

I go for Home 12 canon, so Orodreth is Angrod’s son, and Gil-galad’s father. I am giving Orodreth a younger brother, Inglor, who would be Gildor’s father. 

The story is set in the Isle of Balar in the year 511 of the First Age, a year after Gondolin falls. I am assuming Gildor is sixty years old. 

50 Passages 38: I received you for your safe-keeping, and also to do as I might bid.

Thank you to Keiliss for beta reading the story! 

This is a birthday ficlet for Weeping Naiad. Happy Birthday! =)

* * *

Gildor stood on the dock at the Isle of Balar, looking over to the shore of Beleriand and trying to see as far as his eyes allowed him to. He missed being on the mainland, and he was determined to go back one day no matter what his cousin said. Rodnor could be the High King of the Noldor, but he was only six years older than Gildor. He didn’t have to obey his cousin...

Sixteen years had passed since the day Gildor arrived at the Isle, still a boy, after the fall of Nargothrond. He had been at the Battle of Tumhalad, against his father’s orders to stay in the underground city. Gildor had sneaked out of the settlement and joined one of the companies, marching to battle. 

He had never believed things could go so wrong. Orcs led by Glaurung had descended on Tumhalad, and destroyed the host of Nargothrond. Turin had escaped, though Gildor had only heard the tale later. His mother had died there, while other elleths were taken away, Finduilas among them. Gildor’s father had died in battle, along with Orodreth, both fighting valiantly until the end. Gildor would be dead too if a soldier had not protected him with his body.

He had woken to pain and darkness, the scent of death all around him, so strong that not even the rain could wash it away. He had crawled from under the dead soldier’s body and walked toward the undeground city, too shocked to realize the danger. It had been a vision of his cousin Galadriel that had stopped him. Gildor still wondered if it had been a hallucination, but Galadriel had told Gildor that he had to escape and live on. 

She had neither denied nor confirmed the vision for Gildor when she came to the Mouths of Sirion with Celeborn after Doriath’s fall. They had talked about their dead kin and the future of Arda, and about the lost Elven realms. Gildor could have stayed with Galadriel and Celeborn then, but he was more used to Rodnor’s company. He hadn’t realized that his cousin would refuse to let him go back to the mainland. 

_I am of age! I have been of age for ten years! What is Rodnor thinking?_

“Still sulking?” a voice said beside him. It was Rodnor.

“I am merely trying to decide when it will be safe to sail back to the main land,” Gildor said crossly. 

Rodnor frowned. “We have spoken about this, Gildor.”

“You have spoken about this,” Gildor countered, “and you have refused to listen to me. You have no use for me here, Rodnor. I’m not a mariner, and I can’t be a soldier on an island full of refugees! Why are you trying to keep me here? I had enough of it with my father!”

Rodnor sighed. “I am very aware that I’m not your father, Gildor. I know how you feel. I feel the same, but we won’t stay on this isle forever. We need time to regroup and plan a strategy to recover our lands.”

“You keep saying that, Rodnor, but you refuse to allow me to help. I’m not a child any longer. You are not much older than I, and I have been in a real battle.”

“I was with Círdan when the Falas fell, but that is not important. You want to go back to the wilderness but you don’t have a plan. I cannot let you go back only to die at our enemy’s hands. I received you for your safe-keeping.”

“But not to do as you might bid!” Gildor exclaimed. 

Rodnor’s frown deepened. “I’m not only your cousin, Gildor, but your King, and I will keep you safe, even if you resent me for it.”

“I can survive alone,” Gildor said firmly. “I came all the way from Nargothrond alone, and survived.”

“The elves from Nan-tathren found you unconscious, weak and dehydrated,” Rodnor said. “This is my final word, Gildor. You are not leaving Balar unless you convince me that you will not be wandering by yourself aimlessly.”

“I will leave, no matter what you say,” Gildor said defiantly. 

Rodnor’s anger was plain on his face, and for a moment Gildor thought that his cousin was going to drag him back to the house they shared with Círdan. Gildor prepared himself to stand his ground, but suddenly his cousin calmed down and shook his head, grinning. 

“You have not changed at all, but I have no wish to argue with you, Gildor. Listen, I will allow you to leave Balar, but only under certain conditions. I need someone to travel through the mainland and tell me what is going on. I don’t think you are ready to take on that job yet, but when you are, I will let you go.”

Gildor looked at his cousin warily, but something in Rodnor’s eyes stopped him from starting a new tirade. There was concern, but there was also respect. The old Rodnor from childhood was back, and yet the King was there too. Gildor finally understood and nodded slowly.

“All right,” he said. “I will work on this, on a plan, and when I am ready, you will let me leave.”

“Very well,” Rodnor said seriously. Then he smiled. “Now come back to the house. I am starving, and Círdan is waiting for us.”


End file.
